


Ōwatatsumi no kami

by Officer_Jennie



Series: Tobirama in Mythology [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon God, M/M, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: 大綿津見神 - Ōwatatsumi no kami, the "great deity of the sea"On hiatus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt Dragon God Tobirama was given to me _ages_ ago by someone named Ashley, and reading some dragon based stories just got me in the mood to finally write it! :)

The woods were deathly quiet. Not a sound greeted him as he walked, even the wind seeming to quiet in some form of reverie. Reverie of what, Madara did not know. He only knew the birds were silent, the rabbits hiding in their holes, the insects still as he pushed past the canopy of weeping willows that bordered the edge of the river.

As much as he hated to admit it, it looked as if this hunting trip would be fruitless. Usually he’d at least have brought down some small game by now. Squirrels would hardly feed a man, let alone his whole family, but they would have been far better than nothing.

It was the fear of returning empty handed that had driven him so far north, a full day’s walk further than he’d ever been before. The youngest of his brothers were being weened - a little later than was typical, perhaps, but the break in social customs wasn’t what worried him.

He crouched down at the river bank, cupping his hands in the cool water to scrub the sweat and grime from his face and neck. His water-skin was still mostly full, but he untied it from his waist anyway and filled it before fastening it back in place.

Two more mouths to feed, and he’d found nothing. Worse, Tajima’s illness seemed to be ready to take him, meaning only Madara could afford to go hunting. Izuna had been restless the past few weeks, having to stay and watch the little ones, which had made the few days Madara spent at home nearly unbearable. Honestly, the brat’s moaning and complaining made even the market seem like a haven.

If he’d had any experience with it, Madara would’ve considered taking some fish from the river. It seemed to be deep enough here for it, unlike the upriver shallows that flowed near the village. He’d never had much skill with spearing though, and the string he’d brought with him wouldn’t do for fishing wire.

It was when he was pushing himself up that something across the river caught his eye. Grooves in the soft earth on the other side of the river, unnatural markings that framed a large dip that led to the water. Or, more correctly,  _out_  of the water.

Crossing the river was unwise. Madara was a competent enough swimmer, but there was no telling what had fallen into the river over the years. One reaching branch snagging his clothes could spell the end for him, and without him only a miracle would see his family to winter.

He tried to logic himself out of it. Even as he slid on a jutting rock halfway across, cursing as he caught himself and felt his palm scrape from the impact even through his glove, he tried to tell himself it wasn’t worth checking out. But curiosity had always been his greatest weakness, and he soon found himself crouching down next to the disturbed earth, digging up a handful that looked suspiciously darker than the rest.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the grooves were claw marks. They had the right shape, similar to the torn bark on the oaks in grizzly territory. And whatever had colored the dirt here wasn’t just water.

Madara might not be an expert on river creatures, but he’d been hunting in these woods since he’d grown out of diapers. He stepped carefully around the markings, following them towards the treeline. The deeper groove in the middle had tapered off, though it was still at least as thick as his thigh at its smallest, and the claw marks had morphed as well. It looked more like steps, though the paw shape was none he recognized, and less like desperate scrambling to drag itself away from the water.

Whatever it was easily dwarfed him. He paused to study a bent tree, running a mental checklist of all he knew about grizzly bears as he bit the tip of one glove to take it off, running his hand over the stained bark. It was mostly dry, but his palm still came back tinted red. An injured bear then? It could explain the ruined brush nearby, the cracked wood caused by the stumbling weight crashing into it.

At least following the path of destruction was easy, if entirely inadvisable. Even an injured grizzly would make a fearsome opponent, one that would no doubt shake off his throwing knives as mosquito bites and maul him to a bloody pulp. What kept him moving onward then, other than the burning curiosity to see the great beast with his own eyes, was the dwindling jerky stores they kept as a last resort for when their food ran low.

Not that he could manage to do anything with  _a whole bear,_ which, to his understanding, couldweigh several hundred pounds. But he could certainly lug enough home to make the extended trip worth it.

He’d only been following the trail for a few minutes when he heard it. Some deep rumbling sound that brought him to a stand-still, ears straining to understand what he’d just heard and heart picking up with the edges of fear. A monk had once stopped by their village, clothes worn from travel and a plethora of stories to tell those willing to listen. But of all the dozens of stories he’d listened to over the years, only one came to mind now. Of the monstrous felines deep in the mangrove swamps, striped in black and orange, their roars loud and terrifying enough to freeze a man in his tracks.

What he’d just heard had been far from a roar, but it was enough to know the potential of whatever lay waiting for him at the end of this trail.

But there was one other creature he’d heard of like that. One that could instill fear and awe in someone with little more than a sound, tales and legends alike whispered to the children of his family for generations, the history of their fealty to the sky gods passed down in their blood and bedtime stories.

They were long gone from this world, whether by man-made extinction or a loss of interest in mankind no one knew. Most in his village would call him a fool for ever believing in them, and even his own brothers were starting to show disinterest in their family’s history.

Madara had never much cared for other’s opinions of him, and he wouldn’t be starting now. Worst comes to worst, he’d find nothing but an angry and deadly bear with an extra large lung capacity and a thirst for man-flesh. Best case scenario, some food for his family.

And if he happened to stumble across a mythical creature his family had long ago sworn their allegiance and service to? No doubt he’d go to hell in a handbasket, but he’d deal with that improbable outcome when he came to it. For now, he had mouths to feed, and standing around in needless fear wouldn't accomplish a thing.

It seemed Madara had forgotten to take his bad fortune into account when calculating that potential. A rather gnarled tree root sent him scrambling to regain his footing, and it wasn’t until after he’d scraped his knees catching himself on the ground that the snarling started.

His first thought was teeth.  _Fangs_. Fangs the size of large daggers, in a maw that could easily bite a man in half. Fangs on prominent display from curled lip, both stained pink and red from what his sinking gut knew was blood.

His second thought was that  _of course it wasn’t a bear_. A bear would’ve been too easy. Something twice his size was too much to ask for apparently, and there was no telling just how  _massive_  this creature was before him. Even coiled in on itself it dwarfed any mental image he’d ever constructed of the grizzlies in the far eastern territories.

Any other thoughts were cut short once he realized just  _what_ he was staring at. His forehead touched the earth with little consideration of pride, the breath stolen from his lungs and his arms shaking from both awe and fear.

They were real.

He couldn’t help but take another peek, the dragon mostly obscured by his hair but he didn’t dare move further from his bowed position. Its coloring was certainly off from the legends though he found he cared little in that regard. The absence of wings certainly made the title of sky god less believable. But what else could it be laying before him, warning growls still shaking through his body, fangs and claws large enough to rend him, scales glistening in the sunlight that peeked through the canopy, the blood seeping from its side-

The blood. His head snapped up as he finally focused on the source, what looked to be a broken off spear jammed straight into the dragon’s side. The scales around the wound had either fallen off or been ripped away, leaving an irritate and potentially infected mess behind. And now that his awed stupor had been broken, he noticed that wasn’t the only signs of injury. One horn had been cracked and broken off, leaving a jagged stump on the crown of its head, and even some of its teeth seemed to be missing.

Someone had attacked this dragon. What possibly could be the  _last_  dragon, since they’d been left to myths and child’s tales. He sat back on his knees, doing his best not to flinch away when it snarled further at him for the movement, meeting its red eyes as steady and calm as he could.

It wasn’t wise to be here. Staying any longer would be borderline suicidal, if that narrowed gaze was anything to go by. But leaving now, with it as injured as it was, would mean abandoning it to death or worse.

His family had vowed their loyalty to the dragons of lore. That might have been too many generations back to count, but that promise still ran in his veins, and Madara would be damned before he’d break it. Renewing that vow might mean little in the long run, but he would see it back to health no matter the personal cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama is based off of the legends of Ryūjin or Ryōjin (龍神 "dragon god") in Japanese mythology, which are in some traditions related to the story's namesake the Ōwatatsumi no kami (大綿津見神) or the Watatsumi (海神, 綿津見), while his colorings are based off of deep sea predators like the Great White.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking care of a dragon, it turns out, was a lot harder than it sounded.

Logically, Madara had known it wouldn’t be an easy task, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so difficult. As a matter of fact, he was already beginning to question the accuracy of his family’s history with such creatures. From what little experience he had with just one of their species, all piss and vinegar and sharp teeth, he very much doubted his ancestors had ever worked alongside the beasts. Worshiped them, perhaps, but never  _worked with_  them.

His words seemed to hold no meaning, assurances of no ill-intent answered only by the swipe of a tail that missed him by mere inches and dumb luck. It had already been two days, and he hadn’t so much as managed to get within its long reach. He sat just outside of its range now, marked off by a line he’d dug into the dirt with a broken-off branch, and scowled at the oozing yellow-and-red leaking from the dragon’s wound.

At this rate, it would die before he had a chance to help it. Its warning lunges were nearly all feigns now, slowed and delayed by the weakness weighing it down. Even still, it never once let him out of its sight, the blood-loss and pain not quite enough to leave it off-guard.

He pressed a hand against his temple, hoping to stave off the headache blooming there. What he wouldn’t give to speak with Hitoshi about this mess. His brother might not be old enough to wander the woods on his own, but that certainly didn’t stop him from doing so anyway, adopting every single stray he came across there too. And  _especially_  the sick and wounded. Madara might have taken on falconry for a few summers, but it had been little Toshi that found the chicks to begin with - and had managed to get them to stop tearing into his fingers in the span of a mere afternoon.

Then again, all he’d really done was feed the feathered fluff balls and they’d started to fawn over him. Madara pushed himself up at the thought, keeping a weathered eye on the snarling dragon while he stretched out the kinks in his back.

The question was, of course, what in the world would such a large beast eat? He bent down to pick up his sack, taking stock of the rations he’d already begun to stretch thin. Jerky was hardly enough to stave off his own hunger, and he doubted trail mix would do anything for it. From the looks of those fangs, long and strong enough to crack bone, it probably didn’t bother much with nuts and dried berries.

Large game it was, then. Madara tossed his sack to the side, cursing. Back to problem one - there was no sign of anything that would fill the belly of such a beast. Still not so much as a sign of a hare in the underbrush.At least that mystery made more sense now, what with the several hundred pound predator camping out in the woods.

Well, if the woods were a no-go, he only really had one other option. He didn’t bother gathering his sack, patting his hip just to be sure he still had his knives before following the trail back to the river.

Once he was standing at the water’s edge, the deep groove next to him that he now knew came from the dragon’s tail, he spent a good several minutes just scowling out at the water, hand on his weapon pouch and nose curled up in distaste.

Fishing as a concept was not new to him, but in execution it was all but foreign. His skill with throwing knives would do him no good, and he’d brought neither bow nor spear with him. He’d never owned the latter to begin with, and the former his father had broken just a few weeks before in a typical fit of rage.

On the bright side, crafting a make-shift spear couldn’t be all that difficult. It took some time to find a branch suitable enough for the job, then longer still to convince himself the spear had to be made. Whittling was not a pass-time he personally indulged in, and his knives were a source of pride, having cost him much more than he’d care to admit. And knowing his luck, carving the wood would damage the blade.

In the end, the life of what was possibly the last living dragon far outweighed one of several knives he’d probably been swindled on to to begin with. Madara settled himself against the damaged tree he’d studied what felt like a year ago already, doing his best to ignore the gnarled root digging into his backside while trying to figure out how to hold the branch comfortably enough to work on one end of it.

By the time he’d managed to finagle the damned thing into a proper position and get a decent point on the end, it was nearing noon. The sack he’d left behind in the clearing was calling his name, even plain jerky sounding good to his grumbling stomach. He pushed his own hunger to the back of his mind, making sure to take off his boots and roll up his pants before stepping closer to the river.

Spearing fish should’ve been easy. All he had to do was spot the fish and jab it with the pointy end of his stick. Except apparently the fish lived in another part of the river since not a single one presented itself to him. Even after what felt like hours, crouched down on a rock just off the bank, still but for his breathing, beads of sweat prickling at his neck from the merciless, beating sun, not so much as a splash had showed him where his quarry might be hiding.

By the time he’d spotted a single ripple, his eyes were so strained from staring at the water he thought he’d imagined it. Luckily his years of hunting had his body reacting before his brain could cat up, though that luck was short-lived when he misjudged where the damned water breather had been and only scratched its side. After hours of waiting and  _finally_  seeing something other than his own reflection, all he had to show for his time and effort was a bit of blood on the end of his stick.

Breaking it probably hadn’t been his best idea, but the pieces had already drifted down the river and out of sight by the time he’d even realized he’d done so. He took a minute to breathe, willing his pulse back to normal as he stood in the blessed shade, focusing on the slight breeze cooling the sweat on his skin.

Fishing was a non-option. And the lack of animals left hunting a non-option as well. Despite his efforts to stay calm, Madara couldn’t help but run a frustrated hand through his hair, wincing as he had to yank it passed several knots. He had a whole fucking dragon to feed, and  _nothing_  to feed it with.

With a groan, he flopped himself to the ground, lamenting his fate while watching the clouds wisp away through the holes in the canopy. All those times little Toshi had wanted to show him his fosters, and he couldn’t even be bothered to ask a few questions. The whole family knew he was busy, of course, helping feed them and keep the roof over their heads, but being unable to spare time enough for the little ones and their hobbies left an uneasy lump in his throat even before the dragon nonsense.

Feeling guilty about it wouldn’t change anything now. He picked himself back up and beat the dirt out of his hair, sneezing several times as he did so. If he hadn’t spent a good majority of the day loathing the river, he’d have considered jumping in for a quick rinse, but there were more important issues to consider than his need for a bath.

The way back was filled with more grumbled curses, any half-baked plans to gain the creature’s trust enough to save its damned life tossed out almost as soon as they’d formed. To make matters worse, because  _of course_  it had to get worse for him, the stubborn beast was so irate he could hear its growling several minutes before he could even  _see_  it.

When he finally pushed through the trees once more, he paused, taken aback. His dragon wasn’t snarling. Its breathing seemed a bit labored but calm enough, the rumbling he’d assumed to have been growling much smoother now that he was paying attention. And its eyes weren’t even open, jaw a bit slack as it snored away, exhaustion having finally taken it.

It was the first time he’d seen it sleep since he’d found it. For such a presumably fearsome predator, it looked rather peaceful and tame, tail curled towards its body, the occasional snort through its nostrils. As it was, he could almost forget that its constant state of being had been attack mode for the last few days.

Now that it was asleep, Madara was tempted to get a closer look. That wound already looked nasty from a distance, and there was no telling when he’d get a second chance to look at it. Not that he could do much for it now anyway with that spear jammed into its side.

He found himself moving closer anyway, thanking every second of experience that let him move quietly. Stepping over its tail had to have taken years off of his life, the fear alone of accidentally tripping over or stepping on it causing his heart to leap into his throat.

It was worse than he’d thought. Not significantly so, but there was a smell to the wound even without having his nose against the skin. He peeked through his hair at the still sleeping dragon, frowning in thought. Most wild animals could clean their wounds well enough to keep out infection, though he supposed deep puncture wounds were harder than others. It was the spear itself, still buried inside the dragon, that was preventing any possibility of healing.

If the dragon was to survive much longer, that spear had to come out. There was no way around that.

This was going to get him killed. He knew that with little doubt. But he still took his gloves off, shoving them into a pocket before gripping the spear with both hands. He placed a foot on the dragon’s side just to be sure, taking one long, last look at the beautiful creature of legend he’d stumbled upon before ripping the spear out of its flesh.

The roar echoed in his head, shaking his entire body from the close proximity. He was knocked to the ground almost as soon as the spear slipped out of his fingers, steam assaulting his face and some overwhelmingly foul smell causing his stomach to lurch. It took a moment to connect the two but it didn’t matter the next moment, body pinned, snarling fangs greeting him, and a piercing red eye baring into his own.

Madara wasn’t sure if it was the crushing weight of his impending death that stole the breath from his lungs, or if it was just the dragon’s massive claw pressing down on him that did the trick. Either way, he found he could do little but gasp and hope the end would be kind to him, sending what little prayers he could offer to the spirits of old to watch over his family in his absence.

The snarling didn’t let up, though the weight shifted above him, the dragon’s head shadowing what little sunlight had been able to reach him. Its tongue flickered out at nothing, head tilted towards the spear as it did so, almost as if studying the bit of wood that had once pierced it. After a quick snort, it moved some more, head out of view as it held Madara still against the ground.

When its eye once again met his own, the snarling had died down to threatening growls, and Madara’s mind had been given just enough time to fight past the initial flood of panic in his system. For whatever reason, it hadn’t killed him yet. And every part of his being was screaming out in favor of self-preservation, thoughts racing to find  _something_  to keep him alive for at least a minute longer.

It was the eyes that finally gave it away. That finally gave Madara that last piece of the puzzle, clicking everything into place. Its eyes were clouded over, glazed as if it couldn’t quite focus, and combined with the foul smell of its wound it made so much sense he was tempted to bash his own head in.

Infection. The dragon was feverish from the looks of its gaze. It was no wonder it hadn’t trusted him, hadn’t listened to a word he said. Even if his words might normally make sense it probably couldn’t understand a word he said anyway, in so much pain and confused on top of all of that.

Without much thought beyond his sympathy, he reached out with his one free hand, ignoring the curl of the dragon’s lip and stroking the line of red scales on its cheek. It felt rougher than he’d imagined, though the edges of its scales weren’t as defined as he’d thought, but those were only passing observations as he took a shaky inhale, lungs fighting against the weight on his chest, and started to talk to the dragon once more.

If he survived long enough to return to his village, Madara was certain he’d never find the words to describe the sheer relief he felt when the growling stopped. He found it impossible to pay attention to his own words, lost to heart beating in his ears, all of his focus on smoothing his hand over the cheek of a creature that could crush him - and had chosen instead to rest its head on his chest, eyes slowly fluttering closed, breaths evening out as it heaved one last sigh before slipping off back to sleep.

He didn’t dare move until the sun was near setting, and only dared then out of fear of his rips cracking under the dragon’s weight. Wriggling managed to free most of him at the very least, though his leg was still trapped, keeping him there until it saw fit to wake up once more. And since he had little idea of when that might be, Madara did his best to get comfortable, sending his thanks to the old gods as well as a selfish prayer for his own continued survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hitoshi (等) - Even-tempered


End file.
